


you're the one i follow to the middle of shadows

by jolie_unfiltrd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, And still feel like it could be dirtier?, Easily the dirtiest thing I've written, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, I mean it's not but they don't KNOW that, Make 'Em Bang 2018, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Sansa, loosely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-11 14:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13526211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolie_unfiltrd/pseuds/jolie_unfiltrd
Summary: The girls gathered at first light in the courtyard, robes drawn tightly over shifts, braids glinting in the soft glow of the moonlight, boots hastily laced as they were hustled out of bed by the older maids, the mamas, the grandmothers who looked on them with fond smiles and a glint in their wrinkled eyes.“An alpha,” was the whisper that echoed through the gathering, a chant gaining power as it spread, ear to ear, forming excited grins as the word seeped through them, into their bones, fanning the ever-present flames into a torch.An alpha, an alpha, an alpha.(Only, no one thought to ask who the new alpha would be.)~ day 3 jonsakinkweek: ABO (if it wasn't obvious) ~





	you're the one i follow to the middle of shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt sent in by @ava-rosier: "waaaayyy back when I was in the teen wolf fandom, there was a fic where there’s a mating run. Potential mates would be sent into the woods/forest and they’d hide or whatever and then the werewolves would see if they pick up on a scent that pretty much screams THIS IS YOUR MATE and track them. This culminates in fucking, basically." 
> 
> And, well, here's a mating run that culminates in fucking, basically. 
> 
> KINK WEEK YEAH
> 
> (title from "follow" by crystal fighters)

The girls gathered at first light in the courtyard, robes drawn tightly over shifts, braids glinting in the soft glow of the moonlight, boots hastily laced as they were hustled out of bed by the older maids, the mamas, the grandmothers who looked on them with fond smiles and a glint in their wrinkled eyes. 

_What fun_ , it said. _What danger, too._

_I remember the taste of the night, the howling, the wind on my heels and the rough bark against my back as he -_

“An alpha,” was the whisper that echoed through the gathering, a chant gaining power as it spread, ear to ear, forming excited grins as the word seeped through them, into their bones, fanning the ever-present flames into a torch. _An alpha, an alpha, an alpha._

Even Sansa and Arya, nearly women grown were tumbled out of bed by Lady Stark, insisting that they _go, go, go now, don’t you feel it?_

(It wasn’t normal for the princesses to run for the alpha, wasn’t becoming of young ladies who would be promised and sworn to others for land and title and wealth, but what was the harm? Why not let them have a little fun before they were too old, too serious, to do anything like this again? 

Catelyn had run with them, once, before Brandon, before Ned. Laughter and darkness and starlight, stolen kisses from bold maidens. Ah, but that was a lifetime ago… ) 

Robb had presented as an alpha only some moons ago, but Sansa had slept soundly in her bed. The heat wouldn’t affect blood bonds, not siblings, not like that. The howling had woken her (had likely woken everyone), but she had only flushed, embarrassed on his behalf - the whole of Winterfell knew exactly what that howl meant, knew that somewhere her elder brother was marking his mate, making her his before the old gods - before rolling over and going back to sleep.

She had dreamt the strangest things, that night - dark hair and violet eyes and the submissive tilt of her neck. She had woke panting, fingers grasping at nothing as her thighs twisted together and she groaned. 

She had woke _wanting._

But tonight - gods, she nearly whimpered just at the memory - she had woken to smallclothes that were soaked through, an unfamiliar heat pulsing its way in-between her legs, a coil of desire in her lower belly that told her this wasn’t her moonblood, no. No. This desire was sharp-edged and sharp of teeth, cutting through her with a need that was immediate, that was insistent. 

She had been ready when her mother burst into the room, hair braided back in an intricate style as she sat on the edge of the bed, primly - she had had to do something with her hands or they would have found her naked as her nameday, a hand in her cunt and the other fisted in her mouth so the whole castle wouldn’t wake to her screams.

The way her body was calling for something, someone, to fill it, to push deep and deeper still inside her cunt and satiate this strange, new longing… she couldn’t have ignored it, even if she tried. Even if she wanted to (she didn’t). As it was, she could hardly move, could hardly brush her arm against another’s without wanting to weep, to beg unbecomingly for a touch, a stroke, a kiss. 

She noticed the young women all stood close, feeding off each other’s body heat, but close enough not to touch. They felt it too, she realized, admiring the flush on Jeyne’s cheeks that spread down into her thin shift, the way her nipples pebbled in the evening air. The moon was almost high enough in the sky, and they had begun to collectively quiver, bouncing on their heels in eagerness to run through the godswood, to be chased, to be caught, to be marked and mated and sated. 

Or, if they weren’t the mate, just to run and enjoy the freedoms granted to them until dawn. The freedom to touch, to taste, to explore. Unmated men of the castle often hung around, hoping to be lucky enough to be captured by one of the ladies - but more often, the girls would fall together in heaps, against a tree, in a clearing, rubbing and moaning and finding their pleasure however they could, however they dared. None would speak of it in the morning, just congratulate the mate of the newest alpha, blush when their eyes caught, and move on with their lives. 

No one thought to ask who the new alpha could be. 

Perhaps they should have, but how do you think when the blood is pounding through your veins at such a cadence? How do you reason when your skin feels as if it’s on fire, shivers running down your spine? How do you speak when your cunt is clenching around air, juices dripping down your thighs, and you’re imagining slipping away - just for a second, just for a moment of sweet relief, frigging yourself on your fingers around the corner, in the stables, in the shadowy nook against the wall?

Sansa had never had those thoughts before, not even in the darkest nights when her fingers had explored, curious, the confines and spaces of her own body. She clenched her fists at her side and stood as still as she dared, waiting for the moment when the moon’s beams reached the courtyard, the time when the alpha would begin his hunt. 

Mere minutes passed, though it seemed like hours until - 

And they were off, rabbits made of girls darting through the trees, laughing joyously at the sheer freedom, the wildness of it all. Footsteps pounded behind them, and she couldn’t tell if it was the others or him - him - whoever it was, searching for his mate. Either way, her heart raced. 

She kept running and running, laughing and whooping, pushing against trees and over streams and leaping over fallen branches, lit by the heavyset moon before, in surprise, she stumbled across the hot springs. She hadn’t meant to come here, she had meant to go to the hollow tree on the other side. 

Turning to leave and run the other direction, she froze, still panting, as heavy, steady footsteps sounded behind her, somehow familiar and foreboding in their rhythm. A shiver ran up her spine and she tilted her head to the side - just so - eyes half-lidded (she could smell him, musk and pine and leather and something indescribably sweet) as she tried to glimpse him, the man that set her blood aflame. 

He sniffed the air and a flush bloomed from the skin over her heart as she wondered what he smelled, if he could smell the desire in her body, the heat that made her restless and achy. He growled, low and hoarse and needy.

Feminine footsteps pounded through the woods nearby, distant laughter, too, and she could hardly hear them, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as he approached, as he slowly traced a rough, calloused finger over the shoulder of her shift and up the column of her neck.

His lips dragged down the side of her throat like a brand, a promise. 

He had found her. She was _his._

“Mine.” 

_And he was hers._

The knowledge was heady enough to tip her towards her peak, to send a shudder through her body, but she wanted to wait, wanted to be claimed wholly by him. Wanted him to taste her juices from the source as she peaked. It was a wanton thought, fit for slatterns and whores and certainly not Sansa Stark but she was long past caring, not now. Not about anything but him. 

She couldn’t help it, she whimpered - and he only stepped closer, fingers flexing around the bones of her hips as he pressed open-mouthed, branding kisses to the delicate, vein-strewn skin of her neck, nuzzling into her and inhaling deeply. 

“Mine,” he growled, and a hand was on her tit, pinching the nipple roughly as the fingers on his other hand hitched up her shift to stroke his fingers across the wetness gathered there. Once, twice, then plunging inside, feeling her body take him in willingly and refuse to relinquish him, tightly gripping his fingers even as they explored her depths. She rubbed against him like a cat, feline and desirous, near delirious with pleasure as he pushed his hips and his hardness against her backside. She wanted him to fill her, to mark her, to mate with her. 

“Yes, gods, more,” she begged as her head fell against his shoulder, eyes closed as she chased her peak, grinding down onto his fingers and back into his cock and wanting to sob at the feel of it, at the feel of him. 

Her alpha - she purred inwardly at the title - halted his movements entirely, his fingers still encased in her heat, other hand still gripping her tit. 

“Please,” she started to beg once more before his voice cut through her pleading. 

“Sansa?” The low, rough timbre of the word was incredulous, and familiar and she know she could place it if she wasn’t so concerned with his fingers that had stopped, for whatever reason, fucking her, and his hand that was so close to her nipple and she was sure if he kept going, for just a little longer, that she’d begin to feel satisfied, that she’d peak and finally, finally, breath a sigh of relief and she just needed - 

“Sansa, I-” 

\- _him to stop talking, by the love of all that is holy and good and decent in this world, to stop denying her the feeling that was hovering, just out of reach -_

“Please please please I need you,” she whined, not ashamed to beg as the walls of her cunt fluttered around his fingers, so close to her peak she could taste the headiness of it, the sparks in her veins that were just over the horizon. Letting her hands wander gave a distinct pleasure as she found the bud of her sex and circled it slowly, roughly pinching her other nipple as she leant her head back against his shoulder, eyes clenched shut as she reveled in the feel of him, in the impending satisfaction. 

His breath hitched as she touched herself, as she swiveled her hips into his hand. (A voice at the back of her head, too quiet and too reasonable for a moment drenched in moonlight and sweat, wondered why he’d needed convincing at all). 

She felt him swallow before he slid another finger inside of her, slick and smooth as molasses dripping from trees and just as sweet, before he scraped his teeth against her neck, before he pressed the full length of his body against hers once more, before he started - _oh gods yes_ \- fucking her roughly with his fingers. 

“More, more, more, please, yes, gods yes -“ her litany of begging and pleading continued until her body tightened like a bow string, eyes flashing open as she finally, finally came apart around his fingers. 

She had gone riding last spring on an unseasonably warm day and forgotten to pack any sort of food for the journey. When she returned, she had headed straight to the kitchens and stuffed herself with lemoncakes and apples and cheese until she couldn’t imagine another bite. 

It was like that. 

She had gone swimming in the springs just a few weeks back in the middle of the night, skin restless and itching and desperate just to get out of the castle, out from under everyone’s watchful eyes and needs and expectations, and stayed underneath until her lungs were about to burst, before surfacing and gasping and staring up at the sky. 

It was like that, too. 

Stars, she thought, distantly aware that her cunt was still clenching around his fingers in the after-shocks of her orgasm, that he was lavishing gentle, adoring kisses along her neck and cheekbone and brow. _I can see all the stars through the trees here._

Sansa turned her head to press nose-to-nose with her alpha and found gray eyes, tinged with violet in the shrouded darkness of the clearing, and dark curls pulled back neatly back from his face. His eyes were wild and filled with a harsh desire - but she knew that face. Knew those curls, knew those eyes, would have known them anywhere. Her dreams made sense now - visions of dark curls and violet eyes mirrored in moonlight. 

“Jon,” she exhaled, eyes open wide in shock. Ah, that explained the convincing, the pause, the hesitation, she thought. 

He wrenched his fingers out of her as gently as he dared, as quickly as he could, before stepping back, cock still straining against his breeches, chest heaving and eyes dark with wanting. 

She felt bereft and empty and still, still, not sated.

This dance between them was not done, not yet. 

_Alpha, alpha, alpha._

The chorus echoed in her head. She turned to face him, aware that her shift was only half-covering her body, that her robe had been discarded, that she was a sweaty, filthy mess. That she, oddly, still had her boots on. 

He looked wretched and wrecked and beautiful, the moonlight finding the shadows of his skin and illuminating the muscles of his bare chest, of his arms, of her juices dripping off of his fingertips. He seemed to track her eyes as they traced his outline, and curled his hand into a fist. 

_Mine_ , she thought, with an aggression that would have startled her, any other day, with any other man. 

His voice was a growl as he spoke, next, and she saw the cost of his restraint in the sweat dotting his brow, in the rough cadence of his voice. He should have fucked her by now, should have claimed her - she had never heard of an alpha resisting his base urges, of giving his mate pleasure first before claiming her. It was the reason for the heat they all went through, nature’s blessedly sweet way of preparing her maidens. Sansa couldn’t imagine the level of self-control he must have. The gods knew she certainly didn’t have any, not now, not anymore, not now that she knew what his touch was like, what her peaks could be like. Not now that she knew what she was missing. 

“Sansa, I’m sorry, I-“ 

His voice hitched as she shrugged off her shift and untied her boots, not missing the way his eyes lingered on the curve of her waist, the swaying of her teats, the swell of her backside, the dark thatch of curls between her legs, sodden, now. Dripping, now, onto her thighs, onto the tops of the stockings that she - noticing the way his pupils blew wide at the sight of her in only them - had left on. 

“What-“ he cleared his throat as she began to unbraid her hair, taking down the plaits and shaking them out with a practiced hand until her dark hair lay across her shoulders. “What are you doing?” 

A devious smile played across her lips, at seeing him so undone, so restrained and yet so affected but her every moment. This was a power she had never known before; she found she quite liked it. 

“I thought you’d like to see me, to see all of me, before you claimed me.” She saw him swallow, once, hard, and blink wildly, as if he couldn’t believe her words - but she saw the bob of his cock and the shudder of his shoulders. He could say he didn’t want her, shouldn’t want her, and he’d be lying. 

Every part of her was molded for him. 

She could say she didn’t want him, shouldn’t want him - but she had stopped caring for what should and shouldn’t be the moment he touched her. The gods made the rules of these bonds, let them figure it out, let them punish themselves. She knew what she was meant for, knew who she was meant for, and this man standing in front of her, half-brother or not, was hers, and she intended on taking him for her own. 

“You’re my sister-“ he protested weakly before groaning, a broken man, as she stepped forward and trailed a fingertip up the hard line of his cock.

“Didn’t stop you from fucking me with your fingers,” she said, matter-of-fact, before weaving her other fingers around the back of his neck and pulling his head to hers, sapphire eyes intent and dark and fierce as they hovered, only a breath apart, warm air in the distance between them, wrapping her hand around the length of his cock and marveling at the feeling, at the way his eyes widened and nearly rolled back in his head. 

“You’re mine, Jon, and I am yours.” Claim me, or I will claim you, she seemed to say. 

He stared at her for a second like he’d never seen her before, like this fierce creature in front of him was a forest nymph come to steal his soul and bargain away his life. He decided he’d gladly go, if this is how he went. 

“Aye,” he replied, pushing his hand into her hair and winding the locks into a fist to pull her head back, just slightly, just enough that he could kiss her, rough and bruising and leaving no room for mercy or softness between them. Only possession and greed and a desperate, aching need. “You are mine,” he growled before kissing her again and again until the stars above them seemed to spin, a shudder running up her spine at the tone in his voice, at the steady cadence of dark promises he murmured into her lips. 

She never would have imagined such words falling from his lips, but he was driving her mad, eyes violet in the moonlight and sweat dotting his brow and she had the sudden urge to lick every inch of him. Later, she thought, later, there would be time for sweet caresses and gentle affections and learning every inch of each other. For now, there was only desire, an ache that consumed her completely, consumed them both. 

“Mine,” he growled as he stripped the rest of his clothes off between kisses pressed to her lips, her collarbone, her tits, the slope of her waist, the soft skin of her inner thighs, pulling her down to the ground and laying her in the dewy grass. He stopped to appreciate the sight, only for a moment - Sansa Stark’s pale flesh glowing in the moonlight, legs spread wantonly to the side, nipples the same rosy pink as her cunt, hair spread around her head as a halo, as a whore, and sweetest of all, she was teasing her bottom lip with her teeth, the heady desire laid bare in her eyes. She wanted him. 

It was enough of an invitation for him to dive between her legs, licking her cunt and pushing her to peak once more, unable to resist the taste of her, the feel of her, the temptation to possess every inch of her body. His teeth sank into the tender flesh at her hip as she mewled and whimpered and cried his name, quivering and shaking, two fingers in her cunt and one in her arse as she tightened and pulsed and - 

he could resist no longer, nor hold back from the last vestige of sin left to them. Jon crawled up her body and sheathed himself in her as she lay, quivering through the aftershocks of her peak. Sansa moaned at the welcome intrusion, nuzzling at his head as it lay in the crook of her neck, as he bit the slope of her neck while his hips set a punishing pace. 

She would have bruises in the morning, she thought dazedly, in the shape of his bite, at her hip and at her neck. Sansa couldn’t find it in herself to give a damn, not when she felt this way, not when she was his mate, that the alpha was hers. 

Jon paused to push her legs to hook over his shoulders before he thrusting into her once more, the deeper angle allowing her clit to rub against his bare stomach as he moved, and gods, it felt… delicious. She was near delirious in pleasure and had to focus to realize he was speaking to her, murmuring words as he looked down at her, eyes that had seemed violet and lovely earlier turned black as midnight with pupils blown wide. When she realized he was asking her if she liked that, sweet girl, if she wanted more, sweet girl, if she needed his cock to try to split her in half, filthy girl, she let out a guttural moan, dancing on the edge of yet another impossible peak, eyes locked on his as he rolled his hips and reached a hand to her nipple, determined to siphon every ounce of bliss from her supple body. 

“Sansa, Sansa, Sansa,” her name was a song off of his lips, a litany of begging and worship and romance and promise and her hands reached to his neck to pull him just close enough to press her lips like a brand to his forehead. 

“ _Jon_ ,” she sighed, breathless and writhing. His hips slammed into her once, twice, three times more; he howled, and her world fell apart. 

—

Catelyn heard the howl and frowned, in her chambers, sitting straight up in bed and startling her lord husband. The howl sounded… familiar, somehow. 

—

Sansa came to draped on top of him, his hardened cock still sheathed in her and thrusting slowly, torturously, as his hands traced patterns down her bare back, lingering on the mark on her neck, and the mark at her hip. Bite marks, she knew. Mate marks, she shivered. 

“Mine,” he growled, though the growl was playful now, adoring. Infatuated and still astounded at the woman in his arms, at her fiery hair draped over her shoulder and piercing blue eyes that were fixed on him, now, a wicked gleam in them as she rotated her hips roughly against his. 

“Yours,” she agreed, before leaning forward to press a blazing kiss to his lips - their first - and growling back at him. “Mine,” she said, the soft smile playing on her lips betrayed by the possessive glint in her eyes, the slight furrowed brow between them the only hint of her caution - though it was a little late, by half, he thought, and completely irrelevant.

“Yours,” he grinned, as he gripped her hands, intertwining their fingers briefly before rolling her over, fully intending to take her at least twice more before the dawn. He’d worship this woman the rest of his days, and fuck her the rest of their nights, if she’d have him. Make her belly swell with babe after babe and burrow his head in her magnificent breasts and occasionally, come back out to this clearing and let her break him, once more, for old time’s sake.


End file.
